Mental, mardy, but a little bit marvellous..

Ikea is one of my new favourite places. First time I went I was on the edge of a huge panic attack the whole way round. Found a wee stuffed elephant – Nellyphant – and cuddled her and with Nelly and Mr Fantastic – otherwise known as Mr Sexypants – kept me even enough.

We’ve been there 5 times in as many weeks and it’s been awesome.

Our house is finally looking like a home and it feels so good. It feels like a place for staying.. not just a stepping stone anymore. A home. A place to live and bring up a family. It’s lovely. All it took was a good man and some hard work. And a good man. Actually that’s everything. A good man. The best one. My best friend. My everything.

The divorces are taking so long that it gets me down when I think about having to wait to get married. But I guess that’s an up side to next year – it’ll be our wedding year.

Our house is changing every day. Our lives are both so different than this time last year. We both have our troubles but we have each other. Not just each other but the smalls too. It’s brilliant.

I worry that the universe will take it away – that one person isn’t allowed to be this happy, this settled, this content. But if that’s my only worry I’ll take it.

The household has changed somewhat since I was last here. There are now two adults and 5 children. And two extras every other weekend.

Mr Fantastic and I are getting divorced from our respective exes – both sets of paperwork have been sent, hurrah! We are in the process of planning our own wedding – so far it consists of “let’s get married and grab two witnesses off the street”. Sounds almost perfect to me.

He moved in, weeks ago now. Furniture and everything. Given up his house. I literally couldn’t be happier. To have him here with me, every day – it’s a dream come true. I get to wake up and see his face, feel his heartbeat next to mine. I never felt so loved before.

We’re looking to move house. Neither of us want to unless we find somewhere perfect though, so it’s a case of looking and looking and leaving and looking and looking some more.

My girl has moved out. She’s 11 and can’t live with me anymore. She hates it here. It saddens me. She lives with her aunty and uncle and they love having her there and she clearly prefers to be there and it breaks my heart. Every time I hear of them doing stuff with her that I can’t do. Or her having friends round, or going here or there – it kills me a little bit more each time. She doesn’t want to do any of that stuff with me and her brothers and sisters. Because she doesn’t get enough attention. She doesn’t get everything her own way and while I understand that (and I do) it makes it very difficult to not be hard on myself or to feel like I’m not an absolute failure.

On the plus side, since she moved out, she is much happier. Her aunt and uncle have some help with their baby, my girl is a little star with said baby, she is happy, and the children at home are definitely much more chilled because she’s not here to wind them all up all the time. The atmosphere is so much better, there’s less swearing and fighting and arguing. Its a lot easier – And a huge shame that she can’t be here to enjoy it – even though it would be completely different if she was. It’s so confusing. And hard. So hard. I’m so tired of always feeling like the bad guy. And I do when it comes to her. She actually hates me – she only loves me when she’s not near me. If she’s near me I’m less than nothing to her. Just someone to grind underfoot and take all her frustrations out on. It’s very difficult. I’m hoping as she gets older she will realise that all I’ve ever done is love her and care for her but I suspect her mind is potentially a victims mind and that’s the problem. I refuse to victimise anyone and that includes myself, I have little sympathy for those seeking it. Perhaps that’s my problem and I’ve driven her away. I don’t know. It’s a bloody mess.

So that’s that, anyway. She’s moved out. Permanently I think. With the aim of her dad having her once he gets a new place. The 17 year old has given up college. He got his level 2 diploma and now is looking for an engineering apprenticeship. It could be worse. The 16 (I have a 16 year old now) asked for a bike for his birthday and is now showering and cleaning and doing his jobs and earning money and generally being much more grown up than he has been in the last few years which although welcome, is inherently scary for me. He’s my baby.

Mr Fantastic and I are trying for a baby. Well, not trying as such – but not preventing. There is no birth control involved at any rate. If we fall then we do and it’ll be wonderful. If not I’ll be broken-hearted and so, I suspect, will he. Everything crossed though. I’m considered an old woman by baby making standards now, 35 is well past it. However it has only been 16 weeks since we met – we’ve plenty of time yet. I hope.

So that’s that. We have Mr Fantastics son every other weekend – he slots right right in between Toria and Jack and it’s like he was meant to be here with us. It’s marvellous to see his smiley little face, and Mr Fantastic, although he seems extra stressed, is completely happier – his smile and his laughs seem more, somehow. Not more anything, just more. More him.

Maya comes home every other weekend too. We’ve only had her once since she moved out – and she hated every second and went back early on the Saturday – but with any luck it’ll get better and easier with time. I miss her so much.

So that’s it. It’s a post of mixed feelings, this. It is however, a happy house. Happy children, happy cats. Happy Mr Fantastic. And a happy me.

I was going to do a catchup – I’ve lots to tell you – but im freaking out instead. It’s half past 1 in the morning and I’ve just got onto the couch. I’ve been awake for ages. I was asleep for an hour and a half. It was a great sleep, vivid dreams, warmth, craziness. All winners.

Certain things you can put up with when you’re mentally – ill? – different. I’m currently off my meds’ so I don’t know what’s me and what’s not. It’s been a few weeks – I thought I’d made a note of the dates but I haven’t. I think I’m on the third week without but it feels much longer. I’m not sure at all.

So. Seeing things that aren’t there, predominantly in the garden, at night? Fine. I can live with that. I can put it all down to other things. An overactive imagination. Treading the line between sleep and waking. Trusting that it’s all good and I’m really safe. I can totally have some faith and live with that.

Hearing things that aren’t there I can’t. Not in the middle of the night. I don’t like whispers at the best of times. A voice whispering loudly in my ear? No. Ohhhh no.

Being terrified when all I want to do is sleep? Can’t do it. I’m used to being awake so many times in the middle of the night, that’s fine. Terror is somewhat different.

I have a Mr Fantastic all night every night to keep me safe.

Looking at it objectively I’m really quite used to being scared to a certain extent. I’ve been regularly freaking out like this since I was 13 – however this is the first big one since Mr F and I moved in together.

I’m used to feeling rubbish about the sleeping and the waking and the not having much of a what’s actual reality/what’s not actual reality line there in the middle. That’s fine. Dealable.

I’m even kind of used to having the odd freaking out night. The ones where you do actually get scared at everything and you do get worried about things and you do generally just suffer for 8 of the longest hours of your life. Exhaustion is fine, it’s easy and you know what you’re going to get. Not this though. This hurts. It’s scary.

Im laying on the couch with ALL the lights on. The Amazing World of Gumball on the telly, the volume turned up just loud enough that it’s clearly disturbing my 4 year old but not quite enough for him to wake. Yet. I’m so tired. I’m exhausted. But I can’t let go because that space between waking and sleeping is the scary one. That’s my help but I don’t want to. I don’t want to.

I feel sick.

Update: The 4 year old woke up about ten minutes after I posted this. He was awake until half past 4. We got back into bed around then. Last time on the clock I saw was 5am. Up again at 6.15. 4 year old slept in until 7.

I had a good weekend. Not a special one, not a particularly great one (bar the company) just a good one – a solid weekend, especially when compared to recent experience. We went to visit pets at home and see the small furry animals and the fish, went to the park for a bit, shopping, just stuff. Solid weekendy stuff. It was pretty darn good. Mr Fantastic was here ALL WEEKEND and that made even the worst (kids, meltdowns, tantrums, fights) moments bearable. He seems to hold my smiles.

I’ve noticed that my mum guilt has lessened. Although it’s increased when it comes to me being out of the house more and actually leaving the childers for some lengths of time in each other’s (or others) company, it’s lessened in regards to the holiday guilt I had last year.

I don’t feel the drive to make it marvellous – I’m content for them to relax and have fun, in their own way, in their own time, with me or without, and just make the most of it without being hounded out the door to school every morning and forced to suffer the cruelty of other children or the indignity of not feeling good enough. It’s a good thing, to relax. And they need to learn how.

I been thinking today. My brain has been forcing stuff on me and kept me low today and it’s been a real struggle. I told my bump girls how its got. They understand me by now. We’ve been friends over 4 years; it’s unbelievable that we were just a group of randoms and this far on we’re firm friends. I appreciate them more than I have words to say. Especially with the little monsters.

Its 5 am, Abraham and Victoria are both up and running about screaming. I’ve not slept yet, as I went to bed (at midnight), Abraham woke up and that’s him for the night.

5:30am. Abe and Toria are both installed in front of the tv, on the couch, under blankets. My head hurts. I don’t know if I can physically stay awake much longer. I’m considering getting up and cleaning. As usual it looks like a bombs gone off in the house so I could probably manage it. Might keep me busy until those two sleep again at least.

This post was going to be an exploration of potential triggers and instead I ended up moaning again. Truth is I don’t always know what triggers a down episode. I can feel the gradual slide into it but it’s so inexorable and unavoidable that it feels like there’s nothing I can do to actually stop it. And that’s weird because shouldn’t there be? I don’t know.

AM thoughts. I hate them. Earlier I told mr Fantastic I didn’t like his wallpaper and I’m paying for it now. He knows I don’t like his ex. Should I not say these things? What if I stop? What if he just thinks I’m a negative nancy all the time and actually he starts to hate it the same as everyone else? Moaning myrtle, whinging Wendy, negative nancy. All names I’ve worn before. But he makes me positive there’s a future and I’m in it and he’s in it and we’re (both) alive and we’re happy because we’re together. I guess I need to get rid of the bad habits my brain has of second guessing and third thoughting and fourth thinking my every single little word or thought or action.

Last week everything went purple. The light spots you see around things after looking at a bright light? Purple. Purple haloes around everything else.

The week before it was green. Several times in the past few weeks it’s been yellow.

Wherever I look is yellow and lights increase in size. They swell as I watch. The daylight is yellow and it makes everything else yellow. The artificial lights are yellow. Everything is yellow and shines so bright I have to close my eyes. Haloes.

This morning I was hit with a headache with physical force. It punched into my head on one side, interrupting the conversation I was having. Twice. Then it refused to disappear – it was a pure, strong pain that only went once I took a pill that at that point I’d been 36 hours not taking. I think it makes such a difference.

On the drive home down the motorway I noticed three pointy small trees shaped like rabbits ears. The back of the junction signs have ladders on them. The pattern of the crash barriers along the edges of the motorway make waffles. I saw 3 black cats. Two cars with blue headlamps. I was overtaken by a white car and then undertaken by an orange version of the same car.

I kept forgetting to breathe. I wasn’t there, really. My hands were on the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white. I didn’t go above 73 miles an hour. I couldn’t breathe.

That feeling stayed with me. I wasn’t in my body properly. I was at the back of my head, watching everything else, struggling to focus on the road, the driving, the breathing.

Tonight I looked at Mr Fantastic until he fell asleep and then I watched him sleep until I felt sleepy. It looked like his face was shaking and I realised it was my me shaking free of my body. I held on to him and made to move; he woke up and he was right where I needed him, and there I was. Home again.

I can’t seem to shake it. I’m so tired. I went shopping this morning and I’ve done all my chores and the big lads have done the garden and the smalls and I made marshmallow krispie cake and rocky road cake and mini rocky road cakes. We melted chocolate and made a mess and cleaned it up again. I bought stuff to make pancakes with but I haven’t made the batter yet although I may do in advance of making the actual pancakes. Everyone loves pancakes in my house. And that makes me smile, and hugely… but I’m tired.

I’m so tired. I slept pretty well and I had a great weekend but I’m headachey and body achey and feeling sore. I’ve spent the last hour laying on the couch cos am cold but I’m not warming up and now I’m thinking I might be off to Mr Fantastics this evening instead of being at home so I’m going to go make pancakes for the children now instead so they actually get some else I just won’t bother. So that’s me. Tired, but still going, still worrying, and still trying.

It was a great weekend. Wonderful company, food, and freedom. What else could anyone ask for?

Maybe no crying when the rum kicked in and I couldn’t see my loves face in the darkness. Maybe no crazy crying because I love him so much and I’m frankly terrified he will get sick of me and leave. Maybe no wells of sadness because I had to leave him, as always. Maybe not actually being the most flatulent person in the room when things were getting very intimate… okay that one was funny but even so. Awkwaaaard.

But he was so kind. As he always is. He held me and kissed me and talked to me and reassured me. So now I’m worried that he’ll leave because of that. Maybe he’ll leave because I’m crazy and I NEED all that reassurance and I’m clingy and needy and a bit crap. Maybe my crazy will make him run away screaming. Maybe it won’t. We will see. I’ll take him for as long as I can get, preferably until I’m old and dead. And then a bit longer.

I’m worrying about my rent too. I’ve had a bad couple of months for money and it was late by a few days last month then today is the last day of the month and I could only make half… I’m paying the rest tomorrow and I’ve put off my bills but I don’t know. I’ve a feeling. The landlord text me this morning saying I need to pay because they’ve got mortgage repayments to meet today and although I paid the half and sent them proof I’ve had no reply. Call me paranoid but seriously worrying about it now. I have a dread in my stomach about it.

I’ll pay this months next week even if it means we struggle because it needs doing. I need to lessen this money worry. Bills need to be paid.

And a spider crawled over my pillow while I was laying on it and although I picked it up and put it outside now I have the spider fear and will be worrying they’re crawling on me or coming to get me all day long. I do not like the spider fear.

Today will be a hard day, I can feel it in my bones. But I have no time to dwell or be kind to myself, I need to do cooking with the children and make their holidays happy. Fingers crossed I can.

Yesterday got so much better. I was so happy by the end of the night I thought I would burst. My head was literally shining on the inside, everywhere I looked bright lights and a halo of happy.

Mr Fantastic got his new job. Clever boy! I knew he would, how could anyone meet him and NOT be blown away? He’s the most likeable, friendly, charming, lovable, gorgeous man. I’m floored daily by the fact he has an EX WIFE and that she let him go. I’m glad she did mind, but what a silly, silly woman. She should have kept him and treated him like a king. He deserves no less. So. I’m loved up. And I’m happy. Like really happy. Like so happy I’m driving home smiling. My face hurts because I’ve spent all my time with him smiling. That’s what he does to me. He makes everything better, brighter, just.. more. He makes it all more.

This morning.. maybe less happy. I woke up in a great mood, thanks to a rather lovely dream I was having (thanks Mr Fantastic for that one). And then… my cup of tea was too cold. I put too much milk in it. No biggie but not quite right. I started my jobs early. Tidy house. And then… Kids and tantrums and complications for the weekend. Real life brought me back with a bump. Jack has told me he hated me within 5 minutes of getting up, thrown the Hoover and several other things. Maya has the huff because she stole the laptop first thing and had been taken off it – again. Victoria had the huff because she has to wait to watch a film she wants to watch. And the big boys are sleeping. Abraham is fine so long as he can potter about.. so far.

The weekend. Superdad is supposed to be taking the kids from Friday to Sunday like he usually does. But all week he’s been off about it. Not giving me any definite dates or times. Just saying no he probably can’t. It makes me think he just doesn’t want them. In fact I know he doesn’t want them he just doesn’t want to say so. It’s bugging me. I like to plan. I like to know what’s going on. And I can’t, because it’s Friday and I still don’t know how long the children are going for. I can’t even pack their things. It’s beyond ridiculous and is winding me up and up and up… as I suspect it’s supposed to. Because let’s be honest here, he knows exactly how I’ll react to everything and he knows precisely what to do to achieve maximum effect for minimum effort- and he’ll make the minimum effort for each and everything going.

I hope today gets better. Of course it will but… faith. I need to have faith.